Camber the Heretic

by Katherine Kurtz

  “I have a suggestion, Alister.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, this is very alien to Javan. If it overwhelmed me, with my training, you can see how it must be doubly frightening to him.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t think he’s ready for this?” Camber asked.

  “Maybe not for your touch—yet—but he does know mine,” the Healer replied. “Why don’t we let him lower his shields through me, and then you can establish a light link indirectly.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Javan looked visibly relieved at that, and as he settled down cross-legged in front of the Healer, Camber beckoned for Joram to attend him. Joram blew out the candle he was still holding and gave it to Niallan, then took a place between Camber and Javan, resting his hand lightly on Camber’s knee. Jebediah came and crouched behind the two of them, leaning an elbow casually on each man’s shoulder.

  Healer and prince settled quickly, the boy’s eyes fluttering closed at a few low words from his mentor. After a few seconds, Tavis laid his hand lightly on Javan’s forehead, himself nodding a little as he pushed himself down to working level and established the bond between himself and the boy, then signalled Camber to join the link. Rapport was tenuous this time, for Javan was not yet able to lower his shields very far, or with a great deal of consistency, especially with the link thus expanded, but the boy did have shields: bright, adamantine shields that would have done any Deryni proud.

  For just a few seconds, Camber was able to hold the bonding, to see several levels into Javan’s mind and perceive a bright, scintillating knot of something with tendrils extending outward from it—but then both Tavis’s and Javan’s control started to slip.

  As Tavis withdrew, dissolving the link, he seemed puzzled about the brilliant knot, and looked at Camber in question.

  “Do you know what that was?” he asked.

  Camber nodded. “Yes, I do. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”

  “You can’t—does it have something to do with what happened the night his father died?” Tavis guessed, sitting forward avidly as Javan did the same.

  Camber raised one unruly eyebrow, thoughtfully linking in with Joram and Jebediah as he considered the question. He could not tell Healer and prince all of what had occurred that night. On the other hand, by all that Tavis had told him of Javan—plus his own observation—the boy had not reacted precisely as they had planned, either. He should not have shields; he should not be spontaneously learning to Truth-Read; and that bright knot of incipient power was something which Camber had not thought to see until and unless Javan became king.

  “I may not tell you precisely what happened,” he said. “I gave my word to Cinhil, as did the others who were there. I can tell you, however, since you know some of the results already, that what was done has to do with the succession. Cinhil had planned for—certain effects to be manifested in Alroy first. In that, he partially succeeded. The potential is surely there. Unfortunately, the regents have your brother in too firm a hold. I doubt that he will ever use what he was given—and thank God for that, since he has become the regents’ tool.”

  “That isn’t his fault!” Javan began hotly.

  Camber touched the prince’s shoulder reassuringly. “I know it isn’t his fault, son. But the fact remains that Alroy is not his own man, and may likely never be. He may not even live to be a man. Rhys was very concerned about his health.”

  “You mean he may die?” Javan gasped. “Tavis, is that true?”

  Sighing, Tavis lowered his eyes. “He’s always been sickly, Javan, you know that. I think the regents keep him sedated a good deal of the time, too. You’ve noticed how he sometimes nods off at Court. There was nothing either of us could do about it, so I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to worry any sooner than you have to.”

  Stunned, Javan looked from face to face, seeing confirmation even in the kindly Niallan’s eyes.

  “Is he—going to die because of them?” the boy finally asked. “Are the regents going to kill my brother?”

  Camber shook his head. “No. In fact, it’s much to the regents’ advantage to keep Alroy alive as long as possible. They can control him, where they’re not so sure about you. That’s one of the many reasons they’d like to get rid of Tavis, too. He encourages you to think and he keeps them from turning you into the same kind of puppet they’ve made of Alroy. When Tavis is eventually forced to leave, you must be terribly careful. Don’t think for a minute that they’re fooled by your simple-minded act.”

  Javan stared at him in silence for a long moment, then looked down at his feet. “You said that what was done to me—had to do with the succession.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, my shields, and the way I’m starting to know whether people are lying—”

  “—are part of what should have come to you only if you became king,” Camber replied. “You can see the reason for that, I think. If things had gone as your father planned, each of you three boys would have remained unchanged, so far as you were consciously aware, until and unless you came to the throne. Even then, awareness would have come only if there was need. I think your father was trying to set a precedent for the future: that only one Haldane heir should gain—what we gave you—at a time.”

  “Why has this happened to me, then?” Javan asked.

  “Probably the same principle we spoke of earlier,” Tavis interjected. “Different people respond differently to the same experiences.” He glanced wistfully at Camber. “Alister, I don’t suppose that we could just—oh, go ahead and let—whatever it was, run, since he’s already discovering a part of it?”

  “Do you think he’s ready for that kind of responsibility?” Camber countered.

  Tavis pursed his lips. “He’s very young. Still, he’s already learned a great deal.”

  “And will doubtless continue to do so, but better at his own speed. You’re welcome to continue working with him and see what you can unbury,” Camber said with a slight smile. “I’ll be curious to learn how far Cinhil’s intentions went awry. And it will be good practice for Javan, who has shields, and is learning to Truth-Read anyway,” he concluded, tousling the boy’s hair almost playfully.

  They spoke for yet a little while longer, but Camber would reveal nothing further about Javan’s magical destiny. They cemented plans and discussed alternatives of action for keeping both Javan and Tavis safe, and by the time Camber was ready to send them back through the Portal to Valoret, he was much heartened. Their immediate value was limited by Javan’s youth, but it would increase in the months and years ahead, as each day brought Javan closer to legal age and, almost certainly, to the Crown. In the meantime, both of them would keep as innocuous a profile as possible, especially the Deryni Tavis, and try to avoid provoking the regents to drastic action. Tavis would begin exploring ways to work with Queron and, eventually, with Revan.

  When the two had gone, and the Portal had been reset, Camber made further plans with Joram and Jebediah and Niallan.

  “This news of the arrest warrants on all of us concerns me more than I indicated to Tavis,” Camber said, pacing back and forth in Niallan’s study. “I’m especially fearful for Evaine’s safety now. It’s bad enough that she must have sensed Rhys’s death, and has no one really close to turn to in this time of need, but if she might be pursued, in addition.…”

  “Alister, I don’t think anyone from Valoret could catch up with her,” Niallan said. “She’s had five days’ start. Besides, she has Ansel and Queron with her.”

  “I know. And you’re probably right. But she doesn’t know that she is definitely a fugitive now. It could make a difference.”

  Niallan shook his head. “What difference? Could it make her run the harder? She still has the children with her, Alister, and two to rescue, and another yet unborn. Don’t you think she’ll fight to keep them free? Joram, she’s your sister. You probably know her best of all of us. Tell Alister that she knows what she’s doing.”

&
nbsp; “She knows,” Joram said, with a wan smile and a nod. None of them had been able to reach her since Rhys’s death—though shock and distance could easily account for that. They were certain she was not dead.…

  “She’s probably all right,” Jebediah agreed. “And while knowledge of the warrants might be useful, it might also just make her the more anxious. Besides, even if we wanted to intercept her, there are half a dozen routes that she could be taking between Valoret and Trurill—and from there, at least a handful more to Saint Mary’s—which makes it difficult for us, but no easier for would-be pursuers. They might guess she’d go to Trurill for the boys, but Saint Mary’s?” He shook his head. “You did a good job when you purged the diocesan files, Alister. I doubt that more than a dozen folk outside the immediate area even remember that there’s an abbey called Saint Mary’s in the Hills—much less remember where it is.”

  “You’re probably right,” Camber sighed. “And unfortunately, Dhassa is just too far to try to make contact, even if she were expecting it. Maybe one of us should be at Saint Mary’s to meet her when she arrives, though. If we could gain access to a Portal in the area, it could be done. Joram, you’re the most familiar with Cor Culdi. I doubt that Hubert’s brother could have tampered with the Portal there, if he even knew where to look for it. Provided that he hasn’t, could a man get in and then get out alive?”

  “I could,” Joram replied, sharing Camber’s uneasiness. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  Slowly Camber nodded. “I think so. Much as I hate to send you off alone, someone needs to go. We also need a Portal at Saint Mary’s, so we’ll have another safe access to the keeill. You could begin setting up to construct it with Ansel and Queron, as soon as they arrive. I don’t think you should count on Evaine’s help until after the baby is born. The three of you can do it, can’t you?”

  “If we draw on Aidan and Camlin and a few of the more discreet brethren to fill out the power component, yes. The boys are old enough.”

  “All right, then. I think there’s time to get this started tonight. It’s still a two-day ride from Cor Culdi to Saint Mary’s, so you’re going to have to move if you hope to get there before she does. Jeb, we’ll need the plainest harness you can find for him—black, if we have a choice. Niallan, try to find him some good, lightweight provisions that he can carry without being weighted down. I don’t want him having to stop at public inns. Joram, I want to work with you until they get back, so we can establish a long-range link for contact at set times. I wish we’d had time to do that with Evaine, but—no matter. Are you game?”

  Joram smiled, knowing the flurry of activity was at least partially designed to take his father’s mind off his anxiety.

  “You still manage to think of everything, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  But these two things shall come to thee in a moment in one day, the loss of children and widowhood: they shall come upon thee in their perfection for the multitude of thy sorceries, and for the great abundance of thine enchantments.

  —Isaiah 47:9

  The week had been interminable for Evaine, all but a few short hours at the beginning bleak and numb with loss. She had known Rhys was in danger when she left her beloved Sheele on Christmas Eve. She had feared for him as Joram told her of the destruction of Saint Neot’s and helped them to pack. Rhys had gone to Javan’s aid, but Evaine knew he had not trusted Tavis. The situation appeared to be fast approaching a crisis point. God alone knew whether they would all survive.

  But she could not let herself be paralyzed by fear or indecision. Nor could she rely on husband, father, or brother to see her through this crisis. She counted it a miracle that Joram had even been able to come and warn her in person, especially after what he and their father had witnessed at Saint Neot’s. They were doing their best to protect those entrusted to their care; she must see to the safety of those within her charge.

  The servants at Sheele would not long be safe in Deryni employ, she decided. Accordingly, she paid and dismissed most of them, then left a favored few the gift of the manor, for she was fairly certain she would never be back. Four loyal young men-at-arms she kept in service—bachelors, all, for she would not risk others’ families in what might lie ahead. The children were bundled in their warmest clothes, precious keepsakes hidden away beneath Sheele’s Portal with a few of the scrolls she had been meaning to return to the keeill, and then the Portal was locked and sealed to all but those of blood relation. The few sumpter horses they allowed themselves must carry food for their journey, for they dared not stop at inns.

  In addition, unbeknownst to Joram, she sent Queron into the hills to find and warn Revan of what was happening, for she could not bear to let that loyal friend of so many years merely pine away in solitude, waiting faithfully for orders which never came. She assured Queron that she would be safe; her child was not due for another month. Queron was uneasy about leaving her, but finally he obeyed. He did not know that she had not told Joram he was going.

  Her apprehension about Rhys did not diminish during the night, but by midday she seemed to sense an easing. In the sunshine after lunch, she had been laughing with her daughter as they rode along, she on a favorite bay palfrey and Rhysel cantering happily on her matching pony beside one of the younger guards. The baby Tieg was perched in front of Ansel, who had shed his clerical attire in favor of mail, leather, and a sword; the child chortled with glee as he tried to count the sumpter horses following their train, though he could not get past three without giggling. Death was the last thing Evaine was prepared for on this sunny Christmas afternoon.

  His end had not been sudden, she realized; only her realization that he was dying. The knowledge struck her like a physical blow, driving her breath from her lungs and almost making her lose her seat in that first instant of stark awareness. She pulled up sharply on the palfrey’s reins and clung to the velvet covered pommel, her face ashen. Ansel immediately thrust the protesting Tieg into the arms of one of the guards and raced to her side.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

  “No—Rhys!” she managed to gasp.

  Frantic, terrified that she had lost him already, she thrust herself down into trance and tried to search her senses for his plight—winced under the sharp, skull-crushing blow which had rendered him instantly unconscious, followed the gradual ebbing of all other sensation around him, a slipping into darkness where even she could not follow.

  An odd, wrenching sensation twisted her orientation even as she tried to touch him. Then he was even farther away—Dhassa?—and slipping farther than mere physical distance, and she could only catch a faint echo of her father’s anguish, her brother’s, even of Jebediah’s—but no longer any more of his.

  She blinked and looked up, amazed that the sun still shone coin-bright in the winter sky, and saw by Ansel’s stricken expression that he, too, had felt something of her shock. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept.

  She remembered little, felt little, in the next few days. Later, she would recall riding endlessly, eating tasteless food when it was placed in her hands, and falling into deep, troubled sleep when they would bed down for the night.

  Times there were, especially in the beginning, when all of them would race wildly down a snow-choked road, throwing up great gouts of ice and mud; and other times when they would sit their horses in some forest stillness, seemingly for hours, and Ansel would become very nervous if anyone coughed or a horse whinnied.

  After a few days, the wild rides and forest waitings ceased, and they saw few travellers. Snow fell nearly every night, which slowed them, but kept others off the roads, for the most part. In those early days of her bereavement, she hardly spoke or made a move which Ansel did not direct. Ansel, fearing for her safety and the unborn child’s, if she should fall in her condition, managed to obtain a covered, two-horse litter for her to ride in. It was not until dusk on Monday, the last day of the year, that she at last began to be aware of her surrou
ndings again.

  She apologized for her withdrawal over supper that night, playing a little with the children and, after they dozed, querying Ansel and the men-at-arms for news while they all huddled around a well-shielded campfire. But when she learned that they were but a few hours from Trurill and her son, she bade them press on. Taking the children into her litter, she lulled them to sleep with a song and the gentle, swaying motion of the conveyance as they journeyed on, later unbraiding her golden hair and brushing it loose down her back as her Aidan liked to see it. The guards had taken up brands to light their way, and their torchlight cast a glaring, ruddy glow on the new-fallen snow.

  They were within an hour of dawn, with russet streaks beginning to finger upward from the eastern horizon behind them, when they made the turnoff toward Trurill. But now, as they approached the castle itself, it was as if another dawn stained the sky before them. As they topped the rise before descending into the rich, narrow valley which was the castle’s demesne, Evaine held aside the curtains of the litter and peered aghast at the flames licking upward on the early morning breeze. Trurill Castle was burning!

  With a gasp, she pulled herself to a sitting position and swung her feet to the ground. Ansel, sitting his horse uncomfortably at the side of the litter, squinted at the burning structure uncertainly, then leaned down in alarm to take Evaine’s arm and steady her as she lurched to her feet beside the litter.

  “Evaine, have a care!”

  Shakily, she clung to his stirrup leather, her face terrible in the torchlight, her hair rising like a halo on the wind.

  “Aidan is down there!” she cried, past tears already in the stillness of her horror. “Ansel, we must find him! They wouldn’t hurt him, would they? He’s just a little boy.”

  But she knew, as she said the words, that her son’s youth would have made no difference to marauders. If prisoners had been their goal, then there was a chance that Aidan was still alive, even though she could not sense him with her mind. But if the raid had been a retaliatory one, then they would have spared no living thing—family, servants, animals—nothing!